


Effigy

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surveillance is not that bad, just boring. While some of the others are raiding a warehouse across town, Die and Snowman are here, sitting in the front set of the sedan. Scratch has them keeping their eyes on the back door of a bar, making note of the patrons leaving and entering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effigy

Surveillance is not that bad, just boring. While some of the others are raiding a warehouse across town, Die and Snowman are here, sitting in the front set of the sedan. Scratch has them keeping their eyes on the back door of a bar, making note of the patrons leaving and entering. There's a gunsmith they've got to have a few words with, and he's much easier to approach soft than with force.

Snowman's in the driver's seat, watching with an almost infinite patience. She hasn't seen him anywhere. Honestly, she thinks the whole thing may be a fools errand. It wouldn't be the first she's been sent on, and she knows they send Die off on errands every other day, though she's never asked exactly how useful they are or aren't. Still. English seems to have a plan, and all things more ever forward towards the completion of that plan.

As another couple staggers drunkenly into the alley way, Snowman sighs, wondering if anything will happen tonight. Die fiddles a bit with the radio, searching for something to listen to. There doesn't seem to be much at this time of night, a little jazz, some news, but finally he finds an orchestra playing and they settle on that, "Good?" He asks.

She nods, "That's fine," They settle back into a comfortable sort of silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Die's hand fly to his mouth, a look of shock rolling over his face. Snowman's hand goes to her gun automatically, "Did you see something?"

"N-no, just. I forgot something," Die stammers out, looking somewhat embarrassed, "It's nothing. Just. You know."

She doesn't know, but she nods anyway. Snowman's learned that when people say 'you know', what they really mean is 'drop it', "Fine."

They lapse back into silence. But Die can't seem to manage it. He grabs his doll from where it's sitting on the dashboard and puts it in his lap. She can see him digging in his pockets, searching for something. He finally speaks, "U-um. Do you see any pins?"

She looks down at the car mats to see if he's dropped them. But there are no pins to be seen anywhere, "Are they missing?"

"Not all of them. Just... just one," Die looks at his doll, "We should g-go back. This has been a bust."

"Die," She warns him. Going back isn't an option. They're here on business from Scratch, which is business for Lord English, "It isn't even that late yet. We've got at least another two hours to go."

"B-but. I just. I think. Maybe we should-" His voice catches in his throat and he quickly clears it, facing away from her, "Y-you know, you haven't smoked since we started. You could go go do that a-and I'll watch-"

"As I blow our cover? There's only one of me in town Die, and they all know who I am," Snowman shakes her head. Really, she would expect this from Itchy, not him. Die turns his face away from hers and hunkers in his corner of the car. Looks like he's feeling at least a little ashamed of whatever's come over him. Snowman leaves him be, glancing at the back of the club again.

But once again, just as the silence settles in, Die breaks it and her concentration with a sudden, quiet, "Fuck!" She glances over to see what his problem is this time.

Die's squirming in his seat beside her, like he's got ants in his pants. She frowns at the change in behaviour. This isn't normal. The other guys may fidget with impatience or whine about wanting to leave but Die's always been very good about not doing either of those. But here he is, legs tucked together, constantly readjusting himself.

"What's wrong?" She asks him, more than a little concerned. It might be something serious.

"N-nothing," Die insists, face turned away from her. But she can see it reflected in the car window, going a dark shade of green, "I'm fine. Just. Just fine."

"Are you running a fever?" Snowman reaches over and forces him to look at her. She lays the back of her hand against his forehead, taking his temperature. He's warm, but not unusually so.

"Really. It's. N-nothing," His voice raises an octave and he keeps his doll in his lap, as if he's covering something up. As if he's- "Just. Restless."

Snowman looks at him, really looks at Die, and asks, "Is Stitch messing with your effigy?"

"Oh god," He moans, and it becomes very clear that yes, Stitch is, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but-"

"He has your effigy," She finishes, looking at the dark green flush on Die's cheeks. Snowman's never really given him much though. He's so quiet, when he's not complaining, and he prefers his own company. Still, they're friendly enough, because when you constantly run across each other jumping timelines, you end up knowing one another fairly well. And he's not bad looking, "What's he doing?"

"What?" Die asks, and then repeats it as he realizes that she did say what he heard, "What?"

"What's he doing?" Snowman asks. She sets a hand on his chest, feeling the fast flutter of his heart, "Is he stroking you? Or is he doing something else?"

Die goes darker than she expected he could, and words tumble out of his mouth, "N-no he's n-not, I. Snowman. He."

She silences his derailing train of thought by dragging her hand down his chest and to his pants, cupping the erection in her hand. He's so hot and hard through the fabric, and Die moans again at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. She squeezes, "What's he doing Die? Tell me exactly what's happening."

"I. Oh god. He's. He's in me," Die blurts out, and with the flood doors open, everything else comes pouring out, "He's been. Pushing into me. Just. Oh god, he's going to slowly. I can feel it all. I can feel his hands-" And he sets his hands on his chest, just over his nipples, "There. And he. He keeps thrusting into m-me."

Snowman begins to stroke him through his pants, running a hand over the plush green fabric. Stitch knows she's on patrol with Die. Did he plan for this to happen this way? Who knows. She's willing to go with it though, especially since Die looks so lovely like this, flustered and flushed. Snowman keeps rubbing his cock, leaning in close to speak directly into his ear, "Does he do this often?"

"Just. Just once b-before," Die's sweating, fingers clutching the seat as he quivers, "Oh god. Oh god oh god, I can't take this. Your hand a-and his. His. Inside of me. Just. Thrusting into me," He looks at her and she can't resist that open mouth, his embarrassed face. Snowman kisses him, her mouth just sliding over his open one and pinning him back against the passenger door. Her fingers creep up to the top of his pants and tug them down a little, just enough to get his cock out. Die chokes a little, gasping into her mouth as she runs her fingers all over him, "Snowman. Oh. Oh god."

She nips at the edges of his chin and neck, mouth settling overtop the veins in his throat and softly sucking on them, feeling how they pulse beneath his soft flesh. Her thumb slide up the length of his cock, sliding around the head of his cock. Die whimpers softly in the back of his throat, and she soaks it in, "Will he know when you've come? Or is he just going to use you until he finishes, and leave you to look after yourself?"

The red spots high in his cheeks and the way his hips jerk up into her fist are the answer to that one. She laughs a little. Poor Die. Fucked and forgotten. At least he has her to finish him off. She keeps stroking him, clean even motions that leave him whining softly as he gets closer and closer. His mouth falls open and the sweetest little squawk comes out on the downstroke. She does it again and gets the same result, and Die stuffs a hand into his mouth, mumbling what she assumes is an apology.

"Don't," She says, taking his hand out of his mouth. Die looks at her with those embarrassed eyes of his and she can't resist, she just kisses him. His mouth keeps moving, producing soft keening sounds as she and Stitch put him through his paces. Snowman wishes she could see Stitch fucking Die. She wants to know if there's a delay, how real the effigy feels, and all those other little questions that Die can't answer right now, or possibly ever. Snowman nips at his lips, and Die chokes again, eyes rolling back in his head.

Snowman sees him coming a mile away, Die frantically grabbing onto her coat and his hips jerking even harder into her hand. He bites at his low lip as tries not to keen, but his teeth slip and he makes a wonderful high noise, thrusting and coming at the same time. Die's cum spills out over her fist, shockingly warm, and she watches him writhe and then collapse against the seat, breathing heavily. Snowman takes her hand away from his cock, reaching into Die's jacket and fetching his handkerchief. She tucks Die back into his pants and cleans her hand off.

"That was lovely," Snowman tells him, setting the handkerchief back into his jacket, "We should thank Stitch when we return."

Die struggled to catch his breath, "It's. It's n-not. Over."

And just as she asks him what he means, she feels ghost fingers settle on her breasts and squeeze. It's both unnerving and arousing to feel someone's hands on you that aren't really there, and to know that you can't do anything to stop them. Not that she wants to stop them, but still. Stitch's fingers brush over her nipples and she sucks in a breath. One hand stays on her breast but the other slides down her chest, over her stomach, and in-between her parting thighs. She bumps one knee up against Die's side and he gives out a startled little laugh, still too punchy from his orgasm to manage anything too loud.

Stitch's fingers slip inside of her and Snowman feels him press up against her clit from ten miles away. He strokes her, but she's already wet from watching Die come, and he doesn't need to prep her. But he doesn't know that, and she's got no urge to try stop him.

One of Die's hands clumsily rests on her thigh, Die looking at her for permission. She gives it in the form of pressing his hand against her cunt, his fingers rubbing overtop her panties. Die awkwardly smiles as he gets his fingers against the elastic and tugs, pulling them down around her knees. He slips his fingers inside of her too, following the same path as Stitch. There are no words for how wonderfully strange it feels to have two men rubbing her clit at the same time and in the same exact space, "That's good," She tells Die, both men rubbing their thumbs against her in opposite motion, "That's so good. Did you plan this?"

"No," He confesses, lying his head against her shoulder. Die keeps flicking his fingers over her clit, even as Stitch removes his. Her thighs go even wider, wide as they can go with her panties tight around her knees, even though there's no one to spread for, no reason to do it here when Stitch can do as he likes with her effigy. Though. There is Die, and his wide eyes, and his fumbling fingers, "Is he... is he in you?"

"Not yet. He's-" Her breath catches as he presses against her, and he slides his cock inside the lips of her cunt, pressing against her entrance, "He's close though. Stitch just needs to push and he'll be inside of me. He's just. He's barely pressing."

It's like torture. She wants him inside of her, wants to grab onto his hips and force him in, but the head of his cock is just barely inside her entrance, teasing and taunting her. Die's fingers rub her clit oh so steadily and she's so wet that she can feel it starting to drip out of her and onto the seat. Stitch slips a hand off her breast and onto her hip, and Snowman replaces that with her own hand, pinching a nipple. It's Die's turn to be caught off-guard, to softly gasp as Snowman feels herself up.

He takes forever, but when he does finally shove into her, it's so worth it. She feels his head push into her cunt and she moans as it stretches and fills her. Die rubs and rubs, and the sudden punch of penetration and stimulation are all she needs to knock her over the edge. She comes just as Stitch starts to thrust in, the movement making her orgasm resonate within her until she can barely see. Die gives her clit a break, even as Stitch thrusts away inside of her.

"What's he doing?" Die asks, and it's only fair-turn around considering that she asked him the same. She's handling it better than Die, but she's prepared for Stitch's behaviour, and she's not embarrassed to be seen like this. Her thighs try to tug open further but her panties foil her efforts once again and she shoves her hips forward, wanting Stitch to sink in deeper. Die puts his fingers back inside of her, sliding two into her entrance and stretching them, just to get her attention again, "What's Stitch doing to you?"

"He's inside of me," Snowman smiles as Die bites his lower lip, face flushing all over again, "Stitch keep thrusting. He's got such a steady pace. It's like he's listening to a metronome. He's deep Die, sliding in deeper with each new thrust. I think he must be taking me from behind because I can feel the head of his cock rubbing up against-" She gasps a little as Stitch hits her just right, and she can't finish her sentence.

"God," Die whispers, the fingers he's got inside of her thrusting in and out steadily. It's like being penetrated by two men at once, except they exist in the same space, and their thrusts line up more often than not. It's an overwhelming sensation, but a good overwhelming. She can just imagine him in the boutique, her effigy bent over a sewing table as he steadily fucks her. Snowman moans as he changes his angle, finding just that almost-perfect place. She's not sure how much longer he can last, or how much longer she can. Die licks his lips, voice barely above a whisper, "Snowman, you're. God. You're so-"

"He's fucking me faster, speeding up now" She says, cutting Die off. Her fingers pinch and tease her breasts through the fabric of her coat. The seat must be a mess right now, slick with her juices. Die's fingers thrust in faster automatically and she tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a moan, "I can feel him starting to lose control. He's going to come inside of me, I know it."

"Do you want him to?" Die asks, voice pitched low like he's saying something awful. Like Stitch isn't ten miles away, and the only thing really inside of her are Die's fingers.

But being fucked like this feels real, and there's a cock inside of her, roughly thrusting into her. Snowman nods, "I do. I want him to come inside of me. I want him to fill me up."

"Oh god," Die's voice catches in the back of his throat, like he's the one Stitch is about to come inside of. The fingers thrusting inside of her double their speed, just as Stitch's slow increase in thrust-speed hits just the right point. She feels her thighs tighten first, a warning that this is going to be a big one. Snowman can't stop the loud moans that start bubbling out of her throat when they alternate their thrusts one after the other, and all she can feel is the constant hum of being fucked again and again. She digs her free arm into Die's shoulder, holding him tight against her side as her body works itself into a frenzy. Die scrambles up, shoving his mouth against hers, and they're kissing when she comes, Snowman gasping and Die swallowing her sounds up. She loses total control, legs twitching helplessly and cunt throbbing as the overwhelming orgasm just cuts through her.

Stitch thrusts and thrusts, hands digging into her hips as he continues to fuck her through the orgasm. And then without warning, he stills and she feels the sudden heat of cum spreading inside of her, even though it's impossible. There's nothing inside of her but Die's fingers and her clear liquid, but she still feels the heat from Stitch's load. She whimpers softly, not meaning to, and Die just kisses the corner of her mouth, "It's alright, it's a-alright. You were. You were-"

"Alright?" She teases, body flush and sated from the attention of both men.

"Beautiful," Die insists, slipping his hand out from between her thighs. He takes the handkerchief again and wipes his hand clean before doing the same with Snowman and himself, taking care of their mess while Snowman just watches. He even gives the seat underneath of her a wipe-down, once she slides a little to the side. It's very sweet of him. She lifts her hips when he slides her underwear back on, and her eyes slide over the steamed up windows. Die follows her sight, "Oh shit. Oh god, how many people-"

"Don't think about it," She sits up and clears off the windshield with her sleeve, settling back into the seat. There's nothing she wants to do is more than just lay here and bask in the afterglow. But her eyes are still fixed on the club when she spots the tell-tale silhouette of the gunsmith, "Die. Die, look."

"What?" He looks and his eyes widen with recognition, "The gunsmith."

"Let's go," She slides over to the driver side, getting the handle open. The cold night air rushes in, and her legs wobble as she stands. Snowman steels herself, tugging her skirt down and straightening up as she tries not to look like she's been freshly fucked. Die does the same on his side of the car, attempting to de-rumple as best he can. It's not completely successful. After all, he's still far too flushed, and she's still a bit unsteady on her feet. But once they start, the gunsmith won't notice anything except for the weapons in his face.

Together, they approach the drunken fellow with their bad intentions.


End file.
